


You're Gonna Go Far, Kid

by jsymo



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Library, Anxiety Attacks, Anxious Dean, Dean-Centric, First Time, Fluff, M/M, Older Dean, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Panty Kink, Shy Dean, Unrelated Winchesters, because of course, librarian!Dean, student!Sam, younger Sam
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-17
Updated: 2018-02-09
Packaged: 2018-04-15 06:10:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 21,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4595832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jsymo/pseuds/jsymo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean is a shy librarian, Sam is an outgoing student who gets a job at the library. Dean develops a painfully obvious crush, and Sam knows, but he's a gentleman enough to let Dean develop their relationship on his own terms.</p>
<p>Or, the one where Sam is a cheeky little shit who practically flashes people just so Dean can glimpse his panty-covered ass.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Meet Dean

**Author's Note:**

> I had this idea at work (gee, I wonder where?) and the song "You're Gonna Go Far Kid" by the Offspring popped up on my Pandora app. This story hatched from me shelving romance novels at nine in the morning thinking of how I could turn it into a story. 
> 
> I imagine that this story will be quick. A dozen chapters at the most. But I hope you get enjoyment out of it anyway. I know that I certainly am :)

Dean preferred to work the morning shift. It meant he was in the building two hours before opening and an hour before most of his coworkers. 

It wasn't that Dean wanted to avoid people, he generally liked the people he encountered throughout the day, it's just that the quiet was so much more peaceful.

Dean never felt alone in the large library - even if he was the only one in it - cause he could always feel the echos of them; those little pieces that people left behind on the shelves as they brushed their hands over the selection of books. Those echos are what Dean felt with each step he took, with each book he pulled from the shelves.

So no. 

He was never lonely in the library. 

He was pulling down books that were placed on hold. Placing them on a mini half-cart he was pushing around. The list for today was small, just thirty call numbers he had to find and scan, and was already half-way done. So far there were only three books he hadn't found, but he knew that if he checked in back in the sorting room that he would find what he was looking for. 

He shuffled down the aisle and pocketed his phone. He had his Pandora app up and was listening to his favorite station. It was Imagine Dragons radio and it played a lot of Fall Out Boy, the Offspring, Mumford and Sons, and some One Republic. 

He liked the music. 

It had a steady tempo, a fun beat and soothing words that Dean found himself singing throughout the day.

When his coworkers came in he would switch it over to the Piano Guys, the music was more classical and the instrument only music was great to listen to as well. He just liked to listen to music without words around his coworkers because he thinks it's less disruptive and he likes to be courteous.

He's soon finished finding all of the holds that are in the front of the library and he travels into the back room - the employee only space - it usually requires an electronic key in order to get in, but when the building is closed they leave it open for easy access.

He strolls in pushing his little cart, and makes his way into the shelving rooms. One of the hold books he was searching for was "Grey" - the stupid continuation of the Fifty Shades books, and they never seem to stay on the shelves - Dean hasn't personally read this one. He couldn't bring himself to. He'd only made it a few chapters into the original before he had to put it down, and donate it. He wasn't going to keep that in his personal library.

All of the books on his list are neatly tucked into his cart, and he's able to scan them and print hold receipts. 

There is about twenty minutes that goes by before he hears the back door open and the jangling of keys. 

His first coworker is in so he switches over to the piano guys. 

He hears a few thuds as the newcomer drops whatever they're carrying on a desk. 

"Hey Dean."

Dean turns in his chair to spy Cathy poking her head through the door.

Dean's responding _"Hey"_ comes out quiet and croaky from his unused voice. He should have cleared his throat first.

Cathy is a quiet worker though, so he doesn't have to spend time talking with her and trying to get through the conversation. It isn't that he doesn't like her, he's just a little awkward in the art of talking to people, so he tends to avoid it if he can.

Dean's taken residence up in the shelving room, so he decides to just take care of the book drop while he's there. 

Checking in books is simple. You just pick the books up from the floor where they fall from the chute - there's a padding of flattened cardboard for them to fall onto - and put them on a cart. Then you just scan them in and put them on the corresponding shelves for the Pages to gather, organize and put away in the general part of the library. 

Dean doesn't usually check books in. He's an assistant librarian, so his time is usually spent at the reference desk, helping older patrons work the public computers, finding the most recent Fern Michaels novels for middle-age women, and finding reference books for the students who are smart enough to use a library over Google in order to do their homework. 

He likes the work he does. Really. It's just that sometimes he wishes he could be a Page, the low man on the totem pole, the one person in the library who can don a pair of ear buds and ignore everything but the books. 

This is another reason Dean likes the morning shift. He's able to do some of the 'Page' duties before any of the Pages actually come in. 

His favorite thing about checking books in is that he gets a good look at every book, movie and CD that he checks in and it feels like someone is personally recommending something to him. He usually finds at least one book that he wants to check out each time he works the book drop and today is no different. 

A small Ivory children's novel catches his eye. It's the simple, yet elegant, art on the front that first draws his attention, _The Secret Garden_ , it looks like a sweet read that he can curl up with tonight when he gets home, so he sets it aside and continues his check in.

*****

He's about halfway through his day when his least favorite situation presents itself: impatient patrons who don't understand that he can _literally_ only help one of them at a time. 

He's at the reference desk on the phone with a woman who's trying to put a hold on a book - _Grey_ , if you can believe it - and she's upset that there isn't a copy at the library _right now_ for her to pick up on her lunch break.

Dean hasn't even had a time to swallow more than a handful of almonds since his day had started.

"Mrs. Fitz I understand that you want the copy of this book, but the reality is that we don't have a copy available at the moment."

_"That's a bold faced lie,"_ he voice comes across tinny through the speaker, _"I just checked before I left the office, and the online catalog specifically states that your branch has a copy of that particular book on the shelves, and I want that book at the checkout counter waiting for me when I get there."_

Dean has to work to hold in his sigh when he sees Tom approaching his desk. He's a regular in the library and as far as Dean is concerned Tom would have a few criticisms for the way Jesus goes about healing lepers should they ever meet.

Nothing is good enough for Tom. 

"Yes, we do have a copy -"

_"Then why is there a problem?"_

" - but it's on hold," her talking over him has sucked the confidence out of his voice, and though he is now speaking literal fact to her his resolve is breaking. Problem is there is nothing he can do to _solve_ this particular problem.

"Mr. Winchester, I have a book I need to find." That's Tom. God forbid the man pay attention to the fact that Dean's on the phone with someone. 

Instead of glaring at the man and shaking the phone in his face - as Dean would LOVE to do - he makes sure to make eye contact as he holds up one finger in a totally polite and unaggressive gesture.

_"What do you mean it's on hold? If the catalog states that a book is available then I should be able to check it out."_

"Well, yes, the catalog says that we have a copy available because in the computer system the book is listed as being on a shelf."

"Is this the standards you hold here? I pay taxes to the city so you can ignore me?" Tom is egging him on and Dean feels a cold sweat break out on the back of his neck as his heart rate picks up. 

He isn't in the wrong here, but he hates the feeling of being publicly scolded regardless.

This time Dean covers the receiving end of the phone, "Tom, I will be happy to help you in a minute, but I'm currently helping another patron."

He puts the phone to his ear and now he's being overwhelmed with two angry patrons at once.

_"So it is on a shelf! Then I'm going to pick it up myself when I get there!"_  
"I can't believe it! You'd think a person could get treated with more respect around here!"

Then the Cherry on top of the situation comes in the form of a harried looking mother who comes over to the desk holding the hand of a nightmarish looking child who is staring at Dean's neatly sorted cart of reserved books - one of which being the coveted _Grey_ novel. 

"Sir? Your printer isn't working, and I've already put half a dozen quarters in it."

She doesn't look in a mood to wait either.

With three impatient people on his heels he feels himself crumbling. Too many angry people and unrelenting voices. 

He directs himself to the phone first. "Mrs. Fritz, when you get here I encourage you to search for your novel, however, I can guarantee you that you won't find it as I took the last copy down myself this morning and put the hold label on it. You can talk to someone when you get here as I have already told you that you can place it on hold, but yet you refuse to listen to me." 

He hangs up before she can continue. 

"Now Tom, what do you need?" he's holding a finger up to the woman who is still uttering complaints about quarters and faulty equipment. 

Wrinkles are appearing between Tom's eyes as he's squinting in his frustration, Dean can only imagine that he's the central target in Tom's sights. 

"I placed a book on hold a week ago - " _Here we go._ "And it hasn't been returned yet."

"So your complaint is that another library patron hasn't returned the book you have placed on hold?"

"Yes."

"And what makes you think that I can help in this particular instance?"

"I need you to call them and get them to bring it back, doesn't this place have a limited check out time?"

"Yes. Two weeks. The same amount of time that _everyone_ , not just you, gets to check books out for. Now if you have a questions about something that I can actually help you with I encourage you to come and see me."

Dean stands from his seat and turns to walk with the impatient mother to the public computer space without addressing Tom further. 

He's putting on his brave face, but it wears off _quick_ , it's only been a minute and Dean's resolve is almost gone. 

He's able to resolve the woman's problem easily. 

She was feeding quarters into the copy machine. 

He doesn't stick around to explain to her that she won't get her money back due to her confusion. The large black and white, block signs that cover the three visible sides of the fax, copy and print machines should be answer enough as to why her stupidity is going to cost her three dollars in change. 

Though he's still supposed to be at the reference desk Dean excuses himself from the public part of the library and makes a quick retreat to the break room.

A small fridge is tucked into one of the corners and he pulls a juice out. 

One of the other LA's goes out with money from the coin jar and buys chips, crackers, soda and juice for people to buy in the break room. He'll add a few quarters to it later.

Dean sucks down half the bottle before he tastes the tart tang of grape juice. 

Though it happens very infrequently he can sometimes get trapped in situations which triggers his social anxiety, and if he isn't quick enough to calm himself then his heart rate can go haywire; then his face will flush, his skin will get clammy, he'll break out into a cold sweat… best case he'll be a little dizzy for twenty minutes, worst case he'll pass out an end up on the floor. 

He's been at the library for three years, and the worst case scenario has only happened once, he's been very close to it a dozen times over though.

He drags the hand that isn't holding the juice across his forehead, and collects the small beads of sweat that had appeared on his skin. The library is cool today, Amy is suffering a cold flash - being pregnant will do that to a woman, he's heard - so the thermostat is set to a chilly 67 degrees. 

All of the staff members have been made aware of Amy's dictatorship over the temperature controls, so they've all started dressing accordingly. 

Dean has on a pair of Navy dress pants, an untucked white button up, and a Navy knit sweater. The tails of the button up shirt are hanging out, and he's got the sleeve rolled up to his elbows. 

This morning he though he was dressed pretty stylishly - he is _that_ gay guy - but now he's just thinking he's dressed foolishly warm.

"Too may layers," he mutters to himself as he holds the bottom hems of his shirts and fans himself. 

His sweat is rapidly cooling on his skin however, and he knows he'll be shivering in a moment. 

He chugs the rest of his juice and grabs another bottle for the rest of his shift at the desk. He'll just have to add a dollar into the coin jar later. 

With one last wipe to his forehead he heads back to the reference desk.

*****

"Dean, hold on a sec."

Dean pauses in grabbing his messenger bag. His shift has just concluded and he's about to head home with his checked out books from the day when his harried manager pokes out of her office to call to him.

"Yeah?"

"Can you come in here for a second?"

Dean's heart starts beating loudly as he takes off his bag and walks into the manager's office. Jill isn't the head librarian, she's a business manager who runs the two public libraries in the segment of town Dean lives in. How Jill got the job, or got through school for that matter, is a mystery to him.

The dark skinned woman is gorgeous and curvy, even though his dick doesn't think that way he has to acknowledge fact, she's always dressed with clothing straight from a catalog, nothing like the actual librarian, Maisy, who wears long floor length dresses to work that smell of moth balls and were popular at the end of the 1980's. 

But Jill is erratic. She's disorganized and often forgetful of promises she made to her workers less than an hour ago. 

Dean can't tell you how many times he's had to cancel his plans because she's forgotten to change the schedule to accommodate for him to go to the dentist. But he can only ask her to change it so many times before he starts feeling like a bother and decides to just call his dentist and reschedule for a different time, because it's just easier that way.

How his coworkers can have a functional conversation with the woman is beyond him.

He steps into her office which has papers cluttered about. He doesn't know how she accomplishes anything, but then again her ever present tablet computer is propped opening and running. He knows for a fact that if she didn't have that thing that she'd be a dozen times more unorganized than she already was.

"Do you remember what time the new guy was supposed to start tomorrow?" she says as she walks to the other side of her desk and sits down. The clacking of her red heels distracts him as he tries to think of a response.

"Um."

"I've been trying to find the file HR sent me, but I can't find it. But I put a note in your mail bin on your desk, what time was he starting?"

That mail bin has been empty since Jill placed it on his desk two years ago. She's always imagining these little notes that she supposedly leaves for him. Dean has a theory that she knows she doesn't write the notes, and that she's just trying to make Dean look like a bad employee.

He has no evidence to support this theory, Jill is an extraordinarily kind manager, and she actually likes Dean very much. She says so at his yearly reviews, it's just that he's never received any of these imaginary notes.

"This is the first that I've heard of a new employee," he says honestly.

He doesn't have to ask which position the new guy is for. They had three of their Pages leave for various reasons last month - it's why he's been able to get away with Page duties so often, they're lacking, - and they've been working to fill the slots.

"Yeah, HR just hired him last week. We're too rushed for a formal training session since we need to get people in here, otherwise he'd stay a few weeks at Main getting the typical three weeks in, but instead he's going to learn as he goes. However HR still requires that he get's some type of training in."

"Okay," he wants to ask where this is going, but he kind of already has an idea.

"Maisy has other responsibilities going on, and the Clerks are working with the summer reading programs, so I'm left with my LA's. Now I'd ask Amy, but I really don't want her doing anything so physical at this stage in her pregnancy."

Dean nods, because yeah, the Page position can be a little more physical than what would be comfortable for her.

"And Greg is," Jill shakes her head as she types - she should really stop the whole multi-tasking thing, she really isn't that great at it - but she doesn’t have to say what Dean already knows. Greg is an ass. He gets his job done well enough, but he isn't quite personable. 

The new kid would be stuck with Greg telling him what to do for twenty minutes and already start looking for a new job. People can only handle so much criticism before they get irritated, but the cocky perfectionist in Greg thinks it's being helpful, so it never shuts up.

"So can you follow him around this week and give him a crash course?"

"A cr - um, yeah, I guess." Dean's confident he can do that, even though he's never technically been a Page before. He just really liked the job. "Um, why aren't you asking an existing Page to teach him?"

"Because they're overworked since the other employees left. We're still looking for two more people to hire to make up who we've lost."

"Um, okay, so do you want me on the reference desk this week then?"

"No. Tomorrow come in dressed to work as a Page, you'll essentially be one this week, but I just can't remember when Sam was supposed to start, I want you on the same schedule so you can walk him through his first week so he doesn't get overwhelmed."

See? Jill's a nice person, kind enough to have someone be with this new person all day every day until he can get his bearings, but she's unorganized. Doesn't even know when the kid is supposed to be here.

"I'll just come in before opening tomorrow. I can wait around until he shows up, I like doing check in anyways, I'll ask him his hours then."

"Okay, thank you, that will be helpful."

Her tone sounds dismissive.

"I'll see you 

But since Dean is here he wants to check on something, "did you get my note concerning my friend's wedding? The time I have to take off?" He's careful in how he words his question, he can't come out and directly say _"Did you remember to add my requested time off to the schedule?"_ even though he wants to, she's forgetful.

"Yes I did, and I'll remember to not schedule you for that weekend."

Dean highly doubts it, but he figures he can always remind her again, and then once more. 

"Okay, then I'll see you tomorrow."

He leaves her office and grabs his bag, making his escape before anyone else can snatch him and keep him behind any longer. He's looking forward to getting home, making an early dinner and changing into some sweats so he can wrap himself up in a blanket on the couch and read for a few hours before he decides to call it a night.


	2. Now Meet Sam

It's eight am. 

Dean's changed out of his more professional garb from the previous day, and he's got on a pair of fit jeans, his comfortable boots - they're designed to _look_ like rough and tumble work boots, but he's pretty sure he'd end up with a busted toe if he even dropped just a stapler on it, and instead of the button up shirt he's got on a plain black shirt, with an extra long grey wool cardigan to put over the top to fight off the chill of the A/C.

He's in the shelving room again, listening to his phone as he checks books in from the chute. 

He's in an hour early, earlier than he usually is. 

He wants to get through the returned books and get a cart set up for Sam. He has never trained a Page before, but he's done the tasks plenty. It isn't exactly a hard job. Just a little tedious. So he isn't too worried about Sam being confused, he just wants to make sure that he has various things for the kid to try when he gets here - whenever that is.

So far Dean has a two-sided cart put together with different genres of books, DVD's, CD's, and audiobooks. 

He's going to use the cart to show Sam how to sort the various genres, since fiction, children's literature, DVD's and CD's were sorted by genre, and then author's last name, and then non-fiction and some DVD's were sorted by number he wanted to be able to point out the differences. 

He also needed to explain the problems that Sam might encounter; more than one copy of a book on the shelf, awards books, crowded shelves. They were simple fixes, but Sam would need to know what protocol to follow in order for him to be comfortable with what to do when he ran into one of the problems when Dean was no longer following him around. 

Dean turns in the roller chair that he's sat in and deposits a handful of paperback series books onto the bottom shelf of the cart. He's got some of each type of book in the library, including the awards books, so he'll be able to explain everything to Sam once he gets here. 

He pushes the cart to the side and leave it with a note that says "For Sam" so that if another Page gets there before Sam comes in no one will remove the books and begin putting them away.

Since he still has time before Sam _might_ show up he decides to print of the day's hold list. 

There's no point in him sitting around waiting for the new kid to show up when he doesn't know when it's going to be. 

So Dean grabs his cardigan - it's always colder in the patron side of the library - and a fresh cart and heads out front.

*****

Dean is making great time on his list. 

Nearly all of the books on the hold list are on a shelf that has been put in perfect order, and he doesn't have to move things around to get what he wants. He's grateful for that, since usually after the Pages have gone through and put all of the books in their proper places library patrons with no patience when it comes to cleanliness and order will come through and mess the books up.

It's probably the number one thing about Dean's job that he hates the most.

But today he isn't dealing with any of it. Everything is where it should be, and he's flying through the list. 

He's just about to make a reach for the second Stuart Woods novel - both of which were exactly where they should be - when a hand wraps itself around Dean's shoulder.

Dean's still holding onto the first Stuart Woods novel, so it's very easy for him to whip around and smack the newcomer's hands with the thick book. He batters into the body a few times, scared to death of who they are and why they're here. 

It wouldn't be the first time someone was in the library while it was closed. They've never had someone break in before, but they have had someone hide out throughout the closing process. 

Dean just hopes that whoever this person is wants the location to the cash drawers and that they don't have any more menacing plans.

It's when Dean goes for his third whack - his free arm tight against his chest, body turned and head facing away with his eyes squeezed shut - that he hears the voice connected to the hand that had grabbed him.

"Ow! Ow! Sorry! I didn't mean to scare you!"

Dean pulls the book back and when he cracks open his eyes he takes in a deep breath, having been previously unaware that he had been screaming the whole time.

There's an unfamiliar face standing before him, _above_ him actually, the kid is huge. He's currently got a grimace on his face - lips twisted in displeasure - as he rubs at a key spot on his right shoulder. 

His hair is fairly long, the curls _just_ touching the collar of his shirt, and from there Dean's eyes are incapable of _not_ following along the lines of the lithe body before him, cataloguing everything he sees. From the hair, to the strong shoulders, to the gentle swell of muscles on the biceps, the soft pull of fabric across the tight chest, the lean hips that lead into muscled thighs and long legs. 

He's wearing jeans, and a t-shirt that seems way too worn to be publicly acceptable. He's certainly dressed like a Page.

_Oh Dear-Fucking-God. Don't be Sam._

"Um." Dean's suddenly gone speechless.

"Uh, I'm Sam." The kid offers as he drops his hand from his shoulder and sticks it out in a greeting.

"Uh, D - um - Dean." He holds out his hand, but it's the one currently holding a book.

Sam just rolls with it and grabs the book before shaking Dean's hand. 

A blush crawls up Dean's face as he grabs the book back and places it on the cart. 

"I'm really sorry about scaring you," Sam starts.

Oh, right. Dean just beat the kid with a book like a Bible-thumper, he should probably apologize, "No, no. You're fine, I was just lost in my own little world," he bends over to retrieve the novel he had been reaching for. "I'm the one who should be sorry, at least your attack won't leave bruises."

Sam laughs a little at that, and Dean is just able to glimpse the barely there promise of dimples in that smile.

"So I don't suppose you happen to know where I should be right now? I was told to come in at ten, but I figured I'd come in early. Um, I'm the new Page, by the way, I was just wondering who I was supposed to talk to when I got here. Jill never told me and you're the only person here."

"Yeah, and how _did_ you get in here?" 

Cause the building is locked, Dean has an electronic ID that unlocks the door. 

"Oh, I do have this," Sam pulls an ID out of his pocket that identifies him as a member of the library, it's already on a lanyard so he throws it over his head so the ID hangs around his neck. 

It explains why he was able to get into the building.

"Oh, so Jill was able to actually do something on time," Dean mutters to himself as he grabs a handle on the cart to push it in front of him as he starts walking.

"I didn't catch that," Sam says falling into step alongside him.

"You weren't supposed to."

Sam's brows pull together at that, but he doesn't lose his composure. 

"So do you know who I'm supposed to be meeting with?"

"Yeah, me."

*****

Sam's been at work for about an hour. 

Dean gave him a quick tutorial on how to alphabetize and organize the books and items he has on the cart, and the kid took it quickly. Like Dean had said before, the job isn't hard, just a little tedious.

Since then they've been sitting in the shelving room, chatting as they organize their carts. 

Dean is sure that if it had been someone else training the new kid that they would have overwhelmed him by now; people tend to have a nasty habit of doing so. Dean isn't sure why people think that giving someone all of the information that they could probably use at once is a good idea, it's just not.

So instead he's giving Sam bits of information, just a little each day to keep the kid from freaking out. 

Since showing Sam what to do Dean hasn't had to step in once, so Sam has been talking almost nonstop. Usually Dean would find someone so talkative kind of draining to be around, but Sam is a little different. 

His talking isn't the nonsensical kind of droning that some people do, but he's talking about things of actual interest to Dean, and is actually able to make the socially anxious librarian open up a little with his curious questions. 

So far in the hour that they've known each other Dean has let loose more information about himself to the new guy than he's told anyone else in the three years he's worked at the library. 

Dean has shared his like for music and books, that he's taken cooking classes before with some friends and that because of it he can no longer eat ramen and chicken nuggets like he did throughout his college years. He's talked about his major at length, how he went to KU for History and worked in the library as a student worker, and how at the end of the four years he had grown to love his quiet library job, which is why he looked for one after graduation. 

He's talked about his parents, who live about an hour away, just outside of Lawrence, and he's even revealed some of his favorite stories from college, late night study session with his friends and his crazy roommate who used to climb onto the roof of the dorm to do his homework.

Sam has also dropped some helpful hints about himself, enough to fill in the gaps of the young man before him. 

Sam's a sophomore at Dean's alma mater, and Dean feels a strange sense of pride hearing the praise Sam has for KU thus far. The younger man is undecided in his plans for school, though he's said that he would really like to continue taking some English classes at the higher levels, and that he enjoys learning new languages. So Sam thinks an English major with a Latin minor might be in his future. 

Dean had put in his two cents about how it sounded like both a fun and practical combination.

"That sounds awesome."

"Right? I figure that English is broad enough that I'll be able to get a job pretty much anywhere once I graduate, but I'll like the classes more than if I was a business major, y'know?" Sam shrugs, and the look on his face is one that Dean knows well. It's the one that says he's doing something despite the fact that someone around him has told him otherwise.

Sam's talked about his own family, who live outside of Kansas City - not too far from Dean's own parents - his love of dogs, running, swimming, what he did for his twenty-first birthday party - get drunk and pass out on some rose bushes apparently, Sam even shows him some of the scars on his arms from the thorns - his roommate, who sounds like the world's biggest geek, Sam's favorite movies, and music, his endless love for pizza and Italian food. 

Sam is so bubbly and open Dean almost forgets that he's supposed to be a shy and awkward person when he talks to other people. 

"So you're how old?" 

"Twenty-eight."

Sam makes a thoughtful noise, "you have a girlfriend?"

Dean's face flushes hot, even though the question is innocent.

"Um."

"I'm just curious, I have an older brother about your age and he's just recently proposed to his girlfriend."

"No," Dean cuts of Sam's rambling, "I've never had a girlfriend."

There. Get it out in the open so that Sam knows. 

"Oh." Sam sounds disappointed at first, then a moment passes before he lets out another, louder "Oh!" and Dean knows he finally got it.

"So you're, uh -"

"Gay? Yes."

Sam nods, and seems completely accepting of the idea. "Cool. So, boyfriend then?"

 _Now_ Dean flushes in embarrassment. "Ah, no. No boyfriend."

Sam either doesn't catch Dean's embarrassment, or he's tact enough to work around it.

"Eh, I just broke up with my girlfriend myself. She was awesome, and I really loved her, we were together for two years, but she just wasn't what I was looking for."

Sam opening up about his own relationship woes helps his blush to leave his face quickly. 

"What were you looking for?"

Sam shrugs as he turns the cart and analyzes his work. "Haven't found it yet."

Dean isn't sure how to respond to that question, but fortunately he doesn't have to.

"I think I'm done with this cart, do you want to look it over now?"

Dean glances over to Sam's cart. The kid is indeed finished, so Dean pulls the cart over to see if Sam has got it right.

"Yep," Dean twists the cart and glances over the shelves, "I think you're good, let's head out front and start putting them on the shelves."


	3. Baby Doll Pink

On Sam's second day Dean finally knew the hours he had originally been given, so Dean didn't have to come in to work early, but he did anyway. He liked being the only person in the library, it was a soothing way to spend the morning before the promise of a hectic day. 

He was in the shelving room, cleaning up the returned books, and listening to his Pandora app once again.

The day before with Sam had been a lot of fun, and it wasn't just because Dean loved the simpler duties. Sam had been a great person to work with. He was a fast learner, quick, efficient, kind with any patrons who walked up to him and asked questions that he hadn't learned the answers to yet. Sam was great, and Dean had already started writing up a note to leave with Jill - after he made numerous photocopies - to put in his folder for when the kid's review came around. 

They had organized the cart that Dean had set out for Sam, and then the two of them had gone on a quick tour of the library. 

There were two floors and four categories, with twenty-four different sections for Sam to learn about. The first floor featured the children's section, the circulation desk, one of the two reference desks, a bank of computers, the shelves of A/V items and the non-fiction reference books. It also had a shelf up front that held all of the new books that the library had received in the previous six months. 

Upstairs - by either the elevator or stairs - was the rest of the books. The large print, children's section, and the books that fell under the adult category, as well as the second reference desk, where Dean preferred to be since people hardly sought him out up there. 

Dean had started with the first floor and made sure to walk Sam everywhere and show him books and items from each section as he worked them up to the second floor. 

It could be a little much, so Dean made sure that he took the time to go through everything with Sam _as_ they were walking around, that way Sam had a location to put each name to. 

Once that was out of the way they had spent the rest of their shift putting books back on shelves, and - minus their fifteen minute break - the majority of their five hour shift was spent in companionable silence.

Dean explained how the other Pages usually listened to music as they worked, as the Page position didn't require interactions with patrons, and Sam seemed excited to be able to listen to music as he worked. 

For their fifteen minute break Dean took Sam to the break room in the staff section on the first floor and they talked over a snack; chips and soda for Sam, crackers and juice for Dean.

He had to keep reminding himself that they were coworkers and _not_ on a date, but when their fingers brushed together as Sam offered to throw away their garbage Dean couldn't keep the blush from over-taking his cheeks and neck. 

Then at the end of the day as they walked out to their cars together and Dean told Sam that he would see him tomorrow - now today - Sam had smiled so broadly and so genuinely that Dean felt as if it were a special smile just for him. 

_That's_ when he had floundered. 

"Ye-yeah. I look forward to being with you. I mean! Working with you! I look forward to working with you. Yeah."

Sam looked to be struggling to hide his smile, and he bit his lip as he had fiddled with his keys. 

"Alright then."

Today Dean planned to show Sam how to check books in using the scanner. It was really easy, and Dean found the repetitive actions and resounding beep of the scanner to be soothing. It helped that the shelving room was a little darker than the rest of the back room too. 

Since Dean didn't have to check the books in he found himself with some extra time before Sam showed up - so long as the kid showed up on time, as opposed to early - so he figured he would walk the front and pick up a little bit. 

The library was a decent size, and though they had a good number of Pages working for them there were always a handful of books and shelves that needed straightening after the closing shift. 

Dean had walked through the first floor and made sure that all of the shelves were in perfect order. 

No gaps from missing books. No books randomly lying about. No shelves of books tilted to the side. 

It all looked great. 

Now to the second floor.

He had just stepped into the elevator to double check the upstairs and pulled out his phone. He had developed a reflex for updating his email, despite the fact that the only thing that ever ended up in his inbox was spam and coupon offers. 

He wasn't looking up, but the doors opened only seconds after seemingly closing.

He looked up to see Sam being revealed by the slowly opening doors. 

The kid dropped his hand from where he had stopped the doors closing and stepped into the elevator alongside Dean.

"Didn't think you'd sneak away without me, did you?"

Sam's smiling wide, and his dimples are showing. 

Dean loses his train of thought and it isn't until they're halfway to the second level that Dean remembers to stow his phone and open his mouth.

"You look hot today."

Sam's cheeks do this strange _popping_ thing as he works to not laugh at Dean's comment, and Dean throws a hand up to his forehead, smacking himself as he feels heat fill his face.

"I didn't mean to say that."

He did. He totally did.

Yesterday Sam had looked so comfortably casual in his clothes, but today Sam was dressed in a more preppy fashion. Brown boots, cuffed dark jeans, and a sweater with a quarter zipper down the front. God, he looked like the centerfold for a L.L. Bean advertisement for Men's Fall clothes. 

He supposes that Sam had learned to dress warmer after continuously breaking out in gooseflesh yesterday.

"Aww," Sam's smile falls as Dean amends his comment, "that sucks. I thought I looked pretty great today."

The sudden absence of Sam's smile is terrifying, it feels like the walls of the elevator have closed in on them and Dean is running out of air.

When the doors ding open he rushes out, but immediately turns to face Sam, who follows him onto the floor.

"I mean, you look great, you do. Hot, you - you do. Look hot, that is. I just, didn't want to admit - well, not _admit_ …. I didn't mean to blurt it out like that."

Dean's face is positively _burning_ , is he fucking twelve? He's talked to hot guys before, quite well honestly, all he has to do is shut up whenever he feels like saying something, silence is his usual go to topic in a conversation, but Sam is constantly running him off script.

"So you do think I look hot?"

Sam's smile is back in place as he follows Dean around. Though what he's doing is questionable. He's supposed to be picking things up, but he kind of feels like he's just flitting around like a humming bird among a cluster of flowers. 

Dean clears his throat as he stares at a display of Mercer Meyer books next to the children's shelves. 

"Yes, I think you look hot." His voice is quiet as he admits this and he has to walk away and collect some books that were abandoned on a wrong shelf to keep from looking at Sam like he wants to.

He knows Sam is following after him - he's training the kid after all - but instead of feeling like Sam is following him out of obligation, it feels like he's _pursuing_ him out of desire.

"I think you look nice today too," Sam says quietly as Dean stoops to pick up another stray book - Sam had kindly taken the stack of books Dean had been holding. 

Dean stands up to look at him plainly. 

Sam shrugs, "just to let you know."

Dean nods. And continues on with the training. 

*****

A few more days pass without Dean embarrassing himself too badly. It's now the final day of Sam's training, which means when Monday rolls around Dean is no longer going to have an excuse to be with Sam all day during his shift. 

The days had all passed in similar fashion. Sam showed up early and would surprise Dean, they'd work together, chatting comfortably, taking their break together in the break room as Dean kindly split his deli sandwich and Sam shared his gummy bears that he had brought along; or whichever combination of food and treats they had brought with.

Dean thought it was sweet when Sam brought gummy bears as his snack. Sweet, in that it suited him. Sam really was a sweet person, and the brightly colored juicy fruit-tasting bears were a great food analogy for the kid. 

That, and whatever crush Dean already _blatantly_ had, had nearly doubled when Sam went and made pairs of his gummy bears kiss before popping them into his mouth. 

Today Dean doesn't bother checking the books in that are waiting on the floor in the shelving room. Sam will show up in a short while - he shows up early like Dean - and they'll work on it together like they have since Dean showed Sam how to do so. 

Instead he's printing off a hold list. 

He hasn't done one all week, though he knows Amy and Greg had been covering for him, but he's sure he'll be able to do a hold list today. 

He's going to have Sam work on a cart all on his own while he works on some LA duties, he'll be around to check up on Sam every so often, and to be available in case Sam runs into a situation that leaves him with a question. 

He's clicking through his emails when Sam walks in. 

"Hey Dean."

"Hi Sam."

"So how was your night last night?"

Dean shrugged, though Sam was busy putting his things away into his locker. 

"I drank some wine, grilled a steak on my deck, and read a book."

"Wow, big night."

Dean smiled at Sam's comment, it wasn't said in a mocking way, just friendly teasing. 

"Oh yeah, I like to live life on the edge."

Dean stood up and followed Sam who was walking into the shelving room. 

"So what kind of book was it?"

"What?"

Sam rolled his eyes as he got to his knees and started gathering the books on the floor from the book drop.

"I'm not familiar enough with wine or steak to ask about your dinner, but I know about books."

Dean laughed as he accepted a handful of books from Sam.

"So what was it?"

"What?"

"The book."

"Oh, uh, it uh, it was a book."

Good job genius.

Sam snorts. "Well _obviously_."

Dean clears his throat and struggles to come up with some way to explain the book of complete smut he read last night.

"It was a romance novel."

Sam emits a thoughtful hum and nods his head a few times. "So, porn."

"Nuh - _nooo_. I didn't say that. I said _romance_."

"Yeah, like I believe that those books have anything to it other than creepy porn scenes and shirtless guys on the front covers."

Dean opts to laugh as opposed to think about the book he has at home that did in fact have a shirtless man on the front, displaying unrealistic abs as he held the novel's heroine in an intimate embrace. 

"Yeah, I guess that's true."

Sam laughs and reaches forward for another book that slipped under the computer desk from the chute when Dean looks down and sees it.

Sam's shirt rides up in back as he stretches, and Dean is gifted a delicious glimpse of soft, pink cotton peeking out from the waistband of his jeans. 

Dean can tell just from the band of underwear showing that Sam isn't wearing pink boxers. Hell no, the fabric is too delicate for that. 

No, Sam is wearing pink _panties_. And not the sexy, hot pink either. These are baby doll pink panties, like, the color that should decorate the bedroom of a teenage girls' room, not be the color of the single bit of fabric clinging to a grown man's ass. 

Dean feels his brain short circuit at the sight. 

Seeing Sam - a _straight_ guy - wearing women's underwear is possibly the hottest, and most unexpected thing Dean has ever seen. 

And when Sam straightens up onto his knees and turns to hand Dean the book he had been reaching for Dean feels his face _burning_ with the flush of arousal coursing through him. 

He really hopes that this whole panty thing isn't frequent, cause if it is Dean isn't sure he's going to survive working around Sam.


	4. Almost as if Sam....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovelies.
> 
> I had an hour lunch today at work - no sick leave means I have to pretend I'm feeling better than I am - and since I was inspired I was able to come up with this chapter. I'm hoping there are no errors, as I am not taking the time to read through it (gasps). 
> 
> But I figured ya'll would like this. Just something quick and cute. Interesting?
> 
> I dunno. Tell me what you think :)

When Dean pulled in to work on Monday morning it was to a familiar truck waiting in the parking lot. 

He was a little giddy as he hopped out, his lunch in hand and key fob ready as he scurried into the building at his usual, early hour. 

The lights were all on in the backroom when he put his things away in his desk drawer, and he immediately walked out front - to the main part of the library - to find where Jeff was hiding.

Jeff was the head maintanance worker for the library system, and he made a point of taking frequent trips to the various branches to make sure that things were in top shape.

He always came in hours earlier than the first employee, sneaking around the closed library under the cover of darkness and leaving without a trace so he doesn't get in anyone's way. 

One of the main reasons that Dean knows Jeff is because of his habit of showing up to work early.

Dean finds Jeff tucked in a corner, where the magazines and newspapers go on display. He has a few tiles removed from the drop down ceiling and he's up on a ladder, head and shoulders above the ceiling, working with…something. 

He's got his phone playing on a study desk next to his ladder, and he's singing along to a Taylor Swift song that's playing obscenely loud for a library setting. 

Dean loves the guy, he's so entertaining and outgoing, and always has a talent to make him smile. 

"Good Morning Jeff!" He calls out to the older man.

"Dean?"

Jeff pops his head down and spies him, smiling before he stands back up.

"What the helll're you doing here, Smiley?"  
Dean is in fact smiling, thus the nickname the man has had for him since they first met. Dean has a tendency to smile when he's nervous and doesn't know how to respond to people, especially people like Jeff. 

"I'm always in early."

"I know that, but what are you doing out here?"

Dean just smiles more and shakes his head, there's just something to the warm tone of Jeff's voice that just makes him unable to stop smiling.

"So how is life treating ya?"

"Good."

"Yeah? You sure about that?"

"Of course."

Jeff pops down from the ceiling again, some sort of tool hanging from his hand. "You're not still coming in early off the clock to work, are you Smiley? You're gonna work yourself to death."

Dean shrugs, "I haven't got anything else to do."

Jeff huffs loudly and turns away. "Yeah right, you need to find yourself a man, Smiley. You're too cute to go through life alone."

Dean flushes red, but he can't wipe the smile off of his face. 

Jeff knows that Dean is gay, and he usually teases him good naturedly about it. Dean doesn't mind, he likes the fact that Jeff treats him the same as anyone else. 

"Yeah, but you're already taken. So I don't know what the point would be in trying to find someone else."

Jeff barks out a laugh and actually has to sit down on one of the steps on the ladder while he's doing so. 

Dean is just barely holding back his laughs, but he's having to bite at his bottom lip to accomplish it. 

He sees movement out of the corner of his eye and looks to see Sam approaching.

His face seems kind of hesitant, but it's obvious that he was following the sound of voices and laughter.

"Hey Sam."

"Dean," he responds, turning his immediate attention to Jeff who is just now wiping away his moist eyes. 

"Who's the new kid?"

"Jeff, this is Sam, our new Page. Sam, this is Jeff, the maintanence chief."

The two men exchange pleasantries, and Dean can't help but watch Sam's cool behavior around Jeff. He's usually pretty friendly with the people Dean has seen him interacting with, but for some reason Sam is treating Jeff with an odd air of indifference. 

"So you work with Smiley, huh?"

"Um, Smiley?" Sam casts a look to Dean.

"Yeah! Smiley!" Jeff waves his hand over at him.

"You mean _Dean_ ," Sam responds, the emphasis placed on Dean's name difficult to ignore.

"Yeah, I call 'im Smiley. He's always smiling all the damn time, really makes people's day, dontcha think?"

Sam nods tersely. Like he's reluctant to agree with Jeff. 

"Yeah. I work with _Dean_. And actually, I have a question for you," Sam rounds his attention on him. "Can you come back and look at something with me?"

Dean nods, "sure."

He waves at Jeff and walks off to the call of "See ya later, Smiley."

Sam leads Dean into the shelving room where Dean can see Sam has already started to work. He is also in an hour before everyone else. Just like Dean.

"I can't seem to get the printers for the hold slips to work." He says waving his hand at the machine. 

"Did you scan a hold book?" Dean questions as he sits in the chair before the computer. 

"Yeah, and it beeped, but it didn't print out a slip."

"Okay," Dean searches the area around him, but sees no books. "What book was it?"

"Oh, um."

Sam turns and walks out of the room and Dean takes a moment to check the email on his phone, deleting the spam.

Sam comes back with a book that Dean swears he placed a hold on yesterday. 

"This was the one."

Dean takes the book and scans it in, and a hold slip prints out perfectly.

"Huh. Guess it just needed to wake up a bit," Sam says as Dean inserts the slip into the book.

"Guess so."

"Okay, I can get the rest of the books from the chute," Sam says as they switch spots - Sam sitting in the chair and Dean standing up.

"Alright."

Dean walks out of the shelving room, book in hand, and he walks up to the cart that holds all of the hold books that the clerks are to take up with them at the beginning of the day. He goes to put the book in when he spies a slip of paper atop the row. 

It's a slip paper for the exact book he's holding. 

Almost as if Sam - 

Dean shakes his head. It was probably for a duplicate. 

He grabs the paper. Crumples it and tosses it away. 

He'll print off a hold list and get to work.


	5. Sometimes Pasta Night is Unpredictable

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovelies. 
> 
> RL has been fun. I graduated in December from college and started a new job last week. It's been fun and crazy and I'm learning a lot about myself as a person.
> 
> Fun times y'all. 
> 
> I hope this makes up for me being absent, I'm moving the plot along a bit here. 
> 
> Let me know what you think!

Tuesday is pasta night. 

Dean's got a pot of ravioli boiling on the stove, a glass of red wine in his hand, and season three of family guy queued up on Netflix. 

It was a long day at work, and it had nothing to do with his job. 

Sam hadn't been at work today. Nothing crazy, he didn't call in sick, or from an ambulance taking him to the hospital or something else ridiculous. Sam just plain hadn't been scheduled, and Dean didn't realize how accustomed to Sam's presence he had become until Sam wasn't at work. 

So Dean had been a little upset all day. But it was simply because Dean missed seeing Sam's bright smile as he wheeled his cart around the reference desk, asking him pointless questions and making silly comments that had Dean smiling and blushing. 

It had _nothing_ to do with Dean's mild crush. 

He took another long sip of his wine and refreshed his glass. 

There was enough ravioli in the pot for leftovers tomorrow, which meant that he could either bring them in for lunch, or save them for a quick dinner. 

Dean hummed as he stirred, thinking about what Sam would bring in. 

It was still summer, but Sam had started a six week long class that met twice a week. It was a rhetoric course, and he's seen the younger male perusing the shelves looking for books for the several papers and projects that he had already completed so far. 

The ravioli were still a bit frozen, not quite tender enough. 

Dean took another sip of wine and leaned against the counter. 

Sam had been at the library for just under a month, and already it has been the best month of Dean's career there. Dean's always liked his job, the low stress, easy pace. If he screws up then the worst possible scenario is a misplaced book, no one's lives hang in the balance, no enormous sums of money that can be lost and never replaced. 

It was easy. Simple. 

Dean liked simple.

But Sam was so, energetic, boisterous. He was bright and spontaneous, like a fire-cracker, which is why Dean now knows how it feels to sit on one of the flat carts and have someone push it around (all while the library is closed, of course). 

But he's also safe, sane, and mature. A responsible young man who will make great impacts on society some day. And Dean can't help but think of how Sam always greets David with a handshake and a smile. The older gentleman who walks to the library every day and talks to the workers for hours, as he's all alone at home and prefers the company of people. 

Dean's seen Sam a handful of times working his way through a cart while keeping pace in a conversation with Dave about Rock bands from the eighties. 

Sam was so sweet and wonderful, and Dean was such a neurotic wreck he --

Dean paused to take a deep breath and a large gulp of wine.

Sam was a good kid. Simple as. 

Dean's phone buzzed in his pocket. He slipped it out and couldn't keep the smile off his face when he saw Sam's name on screen. 

_So what are you up to?_

Dean looked down to his boiling pot of ravioli.

**Making dinner**

_What's on the menu?_

**ravioli**

_Ugh. That sounds amazing. I'm stuck with pizza._

_I'm sick of pizza._

Dean bit his lip as he stared at his phone and looked at the large pot on his stove. He and Sam had discovered last week that they only lived about a mile from each other. Dean's one bedroom apartment was cheap, which meant it wasn't too far away from the off-campus housing that some students - including Sam - lived in. 

It wouldn't take much for Dean to invite Sam over for dinner.

But fortunately Sam's next text saved him the awkward task of dancing around a possible invite. 

_You reading more porn tonight?_

**You mean romance novels? Yes.**

_What are you reading tonight?_

**Losing it**

_That the novel I checked in the other day?_

Dean read Sam's text as he turned the burner down low. The ravioli had cooked long enough, so he was going to drain it, add butter, milk, cheese, garlic and spices and call dinner good. 

**Perhaps**

_:)_

Dean was smiling as he left his phone behind and worked quickly to finish making his dinner, but the second buzz from his phone had him rushing back. 

_Aren't you going to ask me what I'm doing?_

Dean chewed his bottom lip. 

**What are you doing?**

Why did he feel like he was being steered into something?

_Well. I'm still working on my homework for rhet :( But my roommates are having a party and it's REALLY difficult to concentrate. Wish I had some place quiet to go_

Dean lifted a hand to his mouth to chew at his thumbnail. 

Here was another opportunity to invite Sam over. He could offer dinner, a quiet space…

Dean couldn't help but think about when he was in college, he would have jumped at the chance to get off campus every so often. He could easily give the chance to Sam. 

With shaky thumbs Dean typed out his response. 

**Want to come over?**

Dean didn't have to wait long for Sam's response.

_Yes!_

Dean felt about five seconds of excitement before he was terrified over the prospect of Sam being at his apartment. Just the two of them. 

Oh shit. 

The contents of the room swirled before his eyes and Dean grabbed onto the counter to steady himself as he took deep breaths. 

He just invited his coworker over to his apartment. His _straight_ coworker who Dean couldn't stop thinking about. 

Fuck. He needed to get a handle on things fast. 

Just as Dean's breathing leveled out his phone buzzed in his hand. 

_omw_

"On my way," Dean read slowly.

Sam was on his way.

Fuck.

Dean shut off his brain and worked on autopilot. He downed the contents of his wine glass in one, graceless gulp. Catching the stray drops with his forearm. He set a lid on his pot of ravioli and turned the burner down to keep it from burning and marched over to the sink to throw his scant amount of dirty dishes into the dishwasher. 

He collected his pile of bills and magazines off the end of his small bistro table where he ate on occasion and moved them next to his landline by the fridge. 

In his living room he picked up stray pillows and gathered up his blankets into the wicker basket he kept in the corner specifically for them. He grabbed the remote for his TV and clicked play on Netflix, letting the tension-relieving sound of Family Guy filter through the space. 

Dean spun around his apartment several times, making sure that the look of "single-gay-bachelor" was sufficiently hidden throughout whatever corners of the apartment that he could get them. 

He ran a hand through his hair as he marched into the bathroom. His hair was still styled nicely from work, so he just ran his fingers through it a bit to freshen it up. His face was feeling a bit dry, so he dabbed on a bit of his lightweight moisturizer before exiting back to the kitchen. 

It wasn't until Dean was pouring himself a new glass of wine that he noticed how his anxiety had brought his blood pressure to its max, he could feel his heart pounding in his chest and he had to force himself to take a few deep breaths to calm his nerves. 

He was still sipping at his glass when the doorbell rang. 

Glass in hand he strode over to the door, and answered it with all the confidence he could muster.

"Hey Sam."

"Hey man," Sam greeted him stepping immediately into the apartment. 

Sam had a backpack on and a laptop bag thrown over one shoulder, he was very obviously ready to do some homework. 

"Thanks again for letting me come over - " Sam began.

Dean shrugged as he brought them further into the apartment. "It's no problem I'm in for a quiet night. After dinner I was going to watch a bit of TV and read."

Sam made a thoughtful noise as he followed Dean into the kitchen. Dean's apartment was open concept, so he was able to see right into his living room and the eating area from his stove. 

He heard two thumps as Sam dropped his backpack and laptop bag on the floor outside of the kitchen. 

"That sounds about a thousand times better than what was happening back in my room, let me tell you."

Sam had followed him right up to the stove, and he was right inside of Dean's personal space. It was probably just his imagination that had him thinking that he could feel Sam's body heat.

_Too many romance novels_

Dean cleared his throat and took a sip of wine. 

"I'll grab some bowls and forks, you want to get the pot and follow me to the table?"

"Sure."

Dean used his forearm to hold his glass of wine to his chest and grabbed two forks and bowls to deposit at his bistro table. Sam was right behind him, setting the pot of hot ravioli on the oven mitt Dean had waiting. 

Before Sam had a chance to sit Dean was walking back to the kitchen for a second wine glass and his open bottle. When he came back Sam was seated and dividing the pasta between the two bowls. 

Dean poured Sam's glass before he sat down at his spot.

He'd just speared one square of ravioli, perfectly delicious and dripping in butter and cheese and - 

"This is the best first date I've ever been on."

Dean coughed his food into his fist and followed it with a healthy dose of wine. 

"You okay?"

He nodded, "wrong tube."

Sam shrugged and dug in for his first bite while Dean downed some more wine. 

_Not enough wine. Dean needs more wine. More alcohol. Something stronger. Tequila?_

"This is really good."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Of course, everything is better than greasy takeout."

Dean nodded, "yeah, I can remember my freshman year when I walked into the cafeteria one day and nearly cried when I saw that they were serving broccoli. I think that's all I ate that day."

Sam smiled, "when I lived on campus the cafeteria would do a french fry night once a week. Nothing but french fries and toppings. It was a french fry bar."

"Seriously?"

"Mhm," Sam swallowed his food, "they had like regular fries, and curly fries, potato wedges, tater tots, and those um, like crissy crossy fries."

"Waffle fries?"

"Yeah," Sam snapped his fingers, "then they'd have toppings for them. Like bacon and ranch and onions and salsa and nacho cheese."

Dean chuckled, "I have to admit, part of me finds the idea of a waffle bar kind of amazing."

"Oh trust me, it is. But after like, the third week, I really started hating Friday's."

"It was on Friday's?"

"Yeah, you can't have french fry Friday on a Tuesday."

Dean laughed as he took a bite, and he couldn't help but revel in how easy it was to talk with Sam, especially when he found it hard to talk to just about everyone.

Dinner passed quickly, and once they had the bowls and forks loaded in the sink Dean sat down with his wine and Sam sat on the opposite end of the couch with a can of soda, to _save wine_ for Dean, Sam had claimed. 

Family guy was still playing on the TV, Dean had watched the show through too many times to count, and now he just uses the episodes as a way to digest, and bridge the gap between post-dinner lull and his routine night time reading.

"Aren't you going to start reading?"

"Hmm?"

Dean swiveled his head to look at Sam, and couldn't help but appreciate the sight. Dean liked the look of Sam on his couch, in his apartment and watching TV with him. He'd felt so domestic earlier, putting their dishes in the dishwasher side by side, he could only imagine how it would feel if they were to actually do dishes together. 

"I thought you read every night," Sam continued, "I kind of had a little vision in my head of what you looked like when you read."

"Really?"

"Yeah."

"So you picture me reading?"

"Sometimes."

Dean cleared his throat and sat up a little more on the couch, "alright, I'll bite, how do you picture me reading at night?"

"Well," Sam spun around on the couch, his right leg hooked up on the middle cushion, facing Dean. "I always pictured you reading in bed for some reason, and like, you have these thick sheets on your bed. Obviously you're drinking wine, cause, well," Sam gestures to Dean's glass, which makes Dean chuckle. "And for some reason since I just _know_ that you're reading porn, you're anyways naked and rubbing your hand over your nipples."

Sam punctuates the end of his speech by reaching forward to grab his drink off of the coffee table. Dean's body is still trying to process whether or not what Sam just said it's enough to make him aroused. 

"Wow," Dean swirls his glass around and stares at it for lack of anything to say.

"Am I wrong?"

Dean can't keep a grin off of his face, "completely. I'm never naked when I read."

"No?"

"Nope, I always wear my glasses, and nothing else."

"Nothing?"

"Well, if it's cold I might wear socks."

That earned Dean a full on belly laugh from Sam. The younger male threw his head back and let it rest on the couch. Dean drank in the sight of pearly white teeth and delicious, tan dimples as he felt the warm flush of his own cheeks. He sipped at his drink to hide his giddy smile. 

Dean was _flirting!_

"Oh Dean," Sam sighed as he wiped his eyes, "that was funny."

Sam took a deep breath and reached for his backpack. 

"You mind if I work on a bit of homework?" He asked pulling out a spiral notebook and a textbook. 

"Not at all, I'll grab my book and mute the TV."

Dean got up to retrieve his book from the bookcase, turning the sound off as he went. 

"Why don't you just turn it off?"

"Cause sometimes I like to watch while I'm thinking about something I just read."

Sam made a thoughtful noise as he flipped his book open and uncapped a highlighter. 

Dean settled on his corner of the couch and prepared to do the same.

"Oh and by the way," Dean started, "if at any point it gets too hot in here let me know. I can go put some more clothes on."

That one earned him a snort and a thrown pillow. 

*****

Dean and Sam had settled into a quiet peace with each other on opposite ends of the couch. Sam was shuffling papers and sucking on the end of his pen as he made notes, and Dean was sipping on his wine as he flipped pages. 

It was that comfortable, companionable quiet, the kind that makes you feel warm and calm. Dean couldn't keep himself from smiling at Sam's form, and then he'd have to work to bite it back. 

His cheek muscles were getting sore. 

At some point Sam's legs were crossed on the couch, and Dean would glance up to glimpse his wiggling toes. 

Shortly after Sam curled up on the couch Dean brought his legs up onto the cushions to stretch them out and the tips of his toes were dancing within reach of Sam's fingers. Dean became aware of that fact when Sam reached forward real fast to tickle the pad of his foot. Dean jerked it away with a laugh and looked up quick to catch Sam smiling over the top of his book. 

It only took Dean about two hours, but eventually he ran out of pages, and settled for watching Sam as he worked. 

Sam had a habit of wrinkling his nose as he read, and Dean thought the tick was adorable. 

He found that he was perfectly content with watching Sam, and wasn't at all concerned with his drooping eyes.

*****

Dean awoke with a start when he felt something tickling his face. 

"Sorry."

"Mmfff." Dean drug a hand over his mouth to gather the bit of spit he felt in the corners of his lips. "What time izzit?"

"It's almost eleven."

"Eleven?" Dean rolled up and swung his legs off the couch, causing Sam to take a step back. "Why am I up then?"

"Cause I fell asleep too," Sam said rubbing his neck. "I only just woke up when my roomie called and asked if I was coming home."

Dean looked up at Sam at the end of a yawn. The younger male had puffy, pink eyes, and a sleepy stance about him. He wasn't about to make Sam drive back to his place, no matter how close. 

"Well, I hope you like waffles," he said standing up and gathering his things. 

"What?"

“Waffles. Hope you like em, cause I'm making some for breakfast.”

Dean paused on his way to his bookshelf where he was stowing his latest completed book.

“I wasn't expecting an invite to stay the night,” Sam said with sincerity. 

Dean shrugged. 

“Can I borrow some clothes?”

“Sure.”

Dean stowed the book and had Sam follow him to his bedroom. Fortunately for him everything was clean, not a dirty boxer in sight, but Dean still felt weirdly intimate as he dug through his dresser to pull out some flannel pants and an old shirt from high school.

“These good?” 

“Perfect,” Sam took the bundle and threw the clothes on the bed before he started stripping before Dean's eyes. 

Sam popped a button on his jeans and slithered them down his legs, kicking them off when they reached the bottom for good measure. 

Dean was dumbstruck as Sam gave him his own private strip tease in his bedroom, and he couldn't help but watch Sam willingly reveal himself. 

It was strange how long it took Dean to notice – what with the blatant staring – that Sam wasn't even wearing boxers. 

His ass had delicate, yellow lace panties stretched across them. They were fine enough of a pattern that Dean could see a beauty mark on Sam's right cheek, one that perfectly matched the one by his nose. 

When Sam bent over to grab his pajamas off the bed Dean was pretty sure he made some kind of mewling sound. 

His previously confused dick had made up its mind, arousal was thick in Dean's bloodstream, and the resulting wave of euphoria made him blank out long enough to not notice Sam crawling into his bed. Wearing his clothes. 

“Um – “

“You're okay with me sleeping in here, right?”

Sam looked so sweet, so naïve at the center of Dean's bed. Like he had no clue what he was doing. 

“Uh – “

“Cause I really wouldn't fit on the couch.”

Okay, Dean agreed with that one. 

“Sure. S' fine,” Dean rasped. 

He could use a drink.

Dean couldn't have been more awkward stepping out of his pants. He never wore pants to bed, they always got twisted and woke him, but he tripped as he bent to remove his pants and fell to his knees before popping up and clearing his throat.

He ignored the sight of Sam cupping his hand over his mouth to hide his smile, and instead kicked them off and away towards the dirty laundry bin. 

His heart was pounding heavy in his chest, and he could feel the prickling nerves of anxiety fighting with him, saying he was better off kicking Sam out of the apartment, or at least his bed, and the small, underdeveloped _adventurous_ part of Dean would argue that books aren't made of flat characters and static situations. Sometimes pasta night has to be unpredictable.

Dean takes a half step towards the light switch and slaps it off. 

Sam had patiently been waiting for him to join the bed, and in the dimness of the room he can see Sam shuffling a bit on his bed as he gets close. 

Dean plucks up his covers and rolls into bed like he does every night, and promptly lands touching Sam from shoulder to knee. 

Sam is sitting much closer than Dean had previously thought, but when Sam doesn't move to give him some space Dean doesn't say anything. Part of the train being that he can't find the breath to speak up. 

“You okay?”

Sam's words are barely more than a whisper. 

Dean takes a deep, audible breath. 

Sam shifts again on the bed, rolls onto his side so he faces Dean. 

“I notice sometimes that you get uncomfortable and don't speak up, I just want to make sure you're okay.”

Dean smiles in the dark and reaches up to feel his heart beating through his chest. Sam's words actually do a lot to calm him, for some reason just Sam knowing that Dean has anxiety issues makes the whole situation feel nonthreatening. 

He turns his head on the pillow to face Sam, and he's staring right into his eyes as he says, “I'm okay.”

“Good.”

And Sam does something that feels appropriate for the moment, and gives Dean the courage to breathe it out until his heart stops pounding. 

He reaches down and grabs Dean's hand.

And more importantly, Dean holds back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for typos


	6. And Waffles Are Sweet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kind of a short chapter, but I consider this as a follow-up to the last chapter. I'm hoping to dedicate enough time to this story to get it finished up in the next few weeks, cause I'm behind on stories, but sometimes RL starts throwing wrenches.
> 
> Thank you all so much for your lovely comments. I'm behind on replying to those as well, but I read and cherish every one :)

"I think he likes you."

"I know he's friendly, but - "

"I didn't mean he likes you in a _friendly_ way."

"Well he certainly doesn't like me that way," Dean hissed into his phone.

"Well you didn't like boys that way until all of a sudden you started shoving dicks up your ass."

Dean flushed at the words, and distracted himself by swaying to the side and spying Sam's sleeping form through the bedroom doorway. 

Twenty minutes ago Dean had woken up, warm, sleepy and with a smile on his face, right up until he opened his eyes and realized he had been molesting Sam in his sleep. 

Turns out Dean was warm, sleepy and happy because he'd shifted over in his sleep and pressed his nose right into the curve of Sam's throat. He'd woken up with his hands all over the guy, and he felt bad that Sam wouldn't know. 

Dean's first reaction had been to slither out of the bed and shove a pillow into the spot where he had been, and Sam's arms engulfed it like Dean was still cuddled up next to his side. 

His second reaction had been to call his best friend, at quarter to six on a Wednesday morning. 

_"Cas, I just violated my coworker,"_ Dean had whispered in a rush upon Cas' grunted _"hullo?_

Cas had followed Dean's horrified declaration with a grumbled response followed by a clear _"what happened?"_

Three minutes of rushed whispering later and Cas was claiming that Sam's arm thrown over Dean was evidence that Sam had feelings for Dean, too.

_"I never said I had feelings for the guy,"_ had been Dean's retort. 

_"You didn't have to,"_ Cas had replied. _"First time in almost a decade that I'm hearing you talk about a boy? You have feelings."_

_"He just broke up with a girlfriend, maybe he thought I was her while asleep?"_

_"Dean, speaking as a man who's had to share a bed with you, I can assure you that no one could ever confuse your physique with that of a woman's, asleep or not."_

Dean had just rolled his eyes.

"Why don't you go back to bed and see if you can proposition him?" Cas was now offering, "that'll show you real quick whether or not Sam likes you."

"Cas, I'm not going to offer myself to a coworker."

"And why do you keep calling him that? You've shared a meal and spent intimate time in each other's presence. He isn't your _coworker_ , at the very least he's your friend."

"Okay, even if he is a friend, friends don't offer to have sex with their friends."

"Right, I'm going to crawl back in bed with _my wife_ and you can tell me why your statement was stupid."

Dean heard bed springs creak over the other end, while he shot back "fiancé". Back in college Cas had had a monster crush on one of the girls in the building, Meg.

Cas and Meg had become fast friends, as no one could resist Cas' quirks and awkward demeanor, but Meg had been resolute in her decision to only stay friends with Cas. 

It hadn't been until the end of their sophomore year together when Cas had made Meg a bet, that if she went on one date with him and let him seal the deal that she'd change her mind and they'd start dating.

Meg, being the stubborn and proud creature that she is, accepted Cas' bet. 

The pair was dating less than thirty-six hours later.

"Cas, just because it worked for you it doesn't mean that it'll work for me."

"You can't guarantee that. You won't know unless you try."

Dean let out an irritated sigh, "you're not helping."

"Well, Dean, I'm not exactly sure why you called me. What exactly do you want me to do."

Dean paused and shuffled his feet. "I don't know."

"Perhaps you should have figured that out before you called."

"I promised him waffles," Dean said lamely, in an attempt to keep the conversation going.

"Have you made any?"

"No."

"Then I suggest you get on that, spoken as a straight man I can say that there is little better way to a man's heart than an expertly made breakfast."

"Should I do blueberries?" Dean asked moving towards his fridge. 

"I'd do chocolate chip, with strawberries, it'll be the perfect romantic end to your first date."

"Cas, it's not a date," Dean punctuated his statement by throwing the fridge door open.

"And yet you ended the night in bed," Cas sounded tired with Dean's arguing, "Look Dean, I know you're having one of your special blend panic attacks right now, but I assure you everything is okay."

Dean closed the door and took stock of his breathing and heart rate, he did seem a little agitated. 

"People have encounters like this. You won't be in trouble for having Sam over, you've done nothing wrong. Making him breakfast and having a normal morning won't freak him out or scare him away. Breathe Dean, you're a catch. You have nothing to panic about, okay?”

Dean was holding closely onto Cas' words. For a junior accountant he sure made a good therapist.

"Yeah."

" _Yeah_ what?"

"Yeah, I've got nothing to panic about."

"You're a catch."

"I'm a catch."

"Good boy."

Dean felt himself deflate and fall into a chair at the table. 

"You making those waffles yet?"

"Give me a minute."

The friends were silent on the phone, giving Dean the safe space he needed to come back down. 

Finally, when Dean felt fine he cleared his throat, "I'm going to make some waffles."

"You do that."

Dean clicked the phone off without saying goodbye and he went about his kitchen making Sam a proper breakfast. Eggs, waffles, and sausage. 

He was going to do his best to ignore Cas' words, well, some of them anyway. Sam was just a friend, just a really affectionate friend, who was very comfortable with the fact that Dean was gay. He was probably reading too much into the situation, and the worst thing he could do was put Sam in an uncomfortable place that made him want to stop hanging out with the shy librarian. 

Dean couldn't do that to a friend. 

So instead of looking at the chocolate chip waffles as a romantic gesture, Dean looked at it as a friendly one. Sure, the differences between the two were mere details, like small touches and stolen glances, but it wasn't Dean's fault that a casual breakfast between friends and a quiet breakfast between new lovers could be construed as basically the same thing.

Dean shook his head and focused on the batter. Too many romance novels. 

He just needed to make these waffles. One goal. One thought. One worry at a time. 

Just focus on the waffles and –

“Morning.”

Dean jerked and froze with his arms near his chest before turning around and watching Sam as he loped into Dean's kitchen. The younger male was sleep ruffled and slow in his movements as he damn near crawled into a chair at Dean's table and blinked owlishly at him with sleepy eyes. 

He had to clear his throat and turn to the stove before greeting him back, adjusting himself in his shorts as discretely as he could. 

“Morning.”

Damn, why didn't he put his pants back on.

“Huh, so you weren't joking about waffles.”

“Oh, I never joke about food.”

Dean heard humming behind him and swiveled back to see Sam eating sausage links from the plate on the table, licking the grease off his fingers as he went. 

“I have to admit, I'm really starting to love the fact that you invited me over.”

“Cause I feed you,” Dean said pulling the waffle out and pouring new batter. He turned his head around in time to see Sam's slow shrug as he grabbed another sausage. 

“You're good company, and even better on the eyes,” Sam's eyes darted over to Dean's lower half before going back to the table. 

Dean doubts if Sam knew he had been watching. 

“Well. Next time you're feeding me.”

“Next time?”

Shit. Maybe Sam didn't want a next time. 

Dean caused his throat to try and take it back, but Sam beat him to it. 

“So I didn't pester you into never inviting me again?”

Dean smiled brightly. Sam _wanted_ to come back? 

“Of course not, I really liked having you here.”

Dean watched long enough to watch a slow blush fan out over Sam's cheeks. It was cute. Cause usually Dean was the one who blushed when someone said something nice. 

He turned back to take out the waffle and almost missed Sam's whispered reply. 

“I like being here too.”


	7. For the Very First Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello my lovelies :)
> 
> Apologies for typos, but I wanted to get this chapter out before bed. 
> 
> Things are going to start moving faster (?) I think! If my plans work out then next chapter we'll see the boys do something different. Again, thank you all so very, very much for all of your wonderful comments. I've been working at replying to those, but most of the time if I have a few minutes I tend to work on the story. 
> 
> I appreciate all of the love sent my way, and I hope I'm doing this story justice :)

It's Saturday, and once again Dean is expecting a visit from Sam.  
   
When Dean finally said goodbye to Sam on Tuesday morning – before Dean's own shift at the library – they had made an agreement that Sam would come over on Saturday and that they'd hang out together. Sam was coming over at noon, which was scarily early, considering that Dean fully expected Sam to spend the night, given that he asked Dean about his drinking preferences and informed him that he'd bought a few bottles of wine for Dean to try.  
   
After that the week had progressed slowly. And even the days where Sam worked weren't enough for Dean. He felt like he needed constant interaction with the younger male, like Sam would suddenly change his mind, or become less charming and kind if Dean wasn't there to watch him.  
   
At night when Dean wasn't busy texting Sam he was worriedly fretting that Sam had come to his senses and realized that the awkward librarian wasn't worth it. That Dean's friendship was too difficult to maintain, what with his blatant insecurities and frequent, yet mild, panic attacks.  
   
But so far Dean's fears had found no ground for support. Sam had been incredible at work, memorably putting his hands on Dean's hips a number of times that he was “squeezing” somewhere being him, or the one time he had almost purposefully bent over in front of Dean to expose some emerald silk panties one time.  
   
It had been hard to make the decision between starting at the long legs or the delicately stretched fabric, but eventually Dean compromised with staring at the apple of Sam's ass, that delicious little curve that leads to his nice, thick thighs….  
   
It was strange for Dean to think about Sam's behavior at work, because while Sam still displayed the accepted idiosyncrasies of a caring friend, a few of his “Dean-specific” habits displayed the relationship of _more_.  
   
Part of this was the physical displays (which Dean may have selectively rehashed at night, until…. spent), and part of it was how the younger make seemed almost disgruntled, _jilted_ if someone showed Dean any favorisms.  
   
Dean noticed the last part on Thursday afternoon when Amy, the heavily pregnant LA, brought Dean a batch of brownies as a thank you for doing the more physical jobs so that she wouldn't have to. Sam had been standing off to the side and was nearly glaring at Amy who had been holding Dean's hand making false confessions of love.  
   
In fact, Dean had never been subject to such strong waves of possessiveness before, and it wasn't until Amy asked Sam if he was alright that Dean had confirmation that Sam was _jealous_.  
   
It was when he first thought that Cas might actually be right.  
   
Dean hadn't made any move though, because he didn't want to force himself on Sam when he wasn't absolutely sure. Which is how he found himself tipsy at eleven thirty on a Saturday morning, from drinking too many mimosas while he thought about things with Sam.  
   
The doorbell rang while Dean was impersonating a burrito on the couch with a blanket, so instead of answering it he just cried out “it's open.”  
   
He popped his head over the backside of the couch to catch Sam letting himself into the apartment, his arms laden with a plethora of grocery bags.  
   
“Hey man,” was his greeting as he dropped the stuff off in the kitchen “How are you?”  
   
Dean let out a noncommittal noise and settled back down as Sam approached.  
   
“You feeling okay?”  
   
Dean nodded, “just tired.”  
   
Sam made a thoughtful face before he tucked himself into the space at the end of the couch where Dean's feet were. Sam's hands reached into the blanket and tugged out Dean's feet before he started methodically squeezing them.  
   
Dean burrowed down even further so that he could barely see Sam's face from under miles of fabric.  
   
Dean didn't say anything, and when Sam kept quiet he followed suit.  
   
Sam's hands felt good, especially when they started teasing the muscles in Dean's calf. He wanted to be embarrassed by his sleepy, pleasurable grunts, but he couldn't.  
   
Eventually Sam sighed his hands down, so that they were cupping Dean's ankles. The stretch of his skin felt intimate covering his own.  
   
“Did you fall asleep?”  
   
Dean's response of a sleepy “No” wasn't convincing.  
   
He heard Sam chuckle and looked up to see Sam push off of the couch, Dean's feet falling in the warm spot left behind.  
   
“Did you eat lunch yet?”  
   
“Does a pitcher of mimosas count?”  
   
Sam looked down on Dean with a smile. “Is pizza okay?”  
   
Dean curled back up on the couch, this time pushing his head into the pillow. He was sleepy now, and if Sam was cooking, then Dean was checking out.  
   
Dean curled back up on the couch, this time on his belly, pushing his face into the pillow. He was sleepy now, and if Sam was cooking then Dean was checking out.  
   
He wasn't entirely aware that he had dozed off, despite the fact that he had given his body permission to, but he had definitely fallen into a light sleep on the couch, punctuated with the sounds of Sam clinking about, making himself at home as he learned his way around Dean's kitchen.  
   
Now though, the sounds were softer, and Dean's head was filled with the warm fuzziness of sobering up after a few drinks.  
   
He reaches up a hand to scrub at his eyes as he rolls over. His blanket slips down as he moves around on the couch and sits up. From over the back of the couch he can spy Sam at the stove, the younger male is half turned, so Dean has a profile view.  
   
Sam's stirring at something on the stove which makes sense, given that Dean's mouth is watering. It takes him a minute to disentangle from the blanket, but soon enough Dean's up and investigating.  
   
Upon heaving Dean's socked feet Sam turns around and greets him with a smile, he looks back to the stove before he says “I was wondering when you'd wake up.”  
   
Dean shuffles closer “wasn't sleeping.”  
   
Sam's thoughtful hum tells him the younger male doesn't agree.  
   
“What are you doing? I thought you said pizza?”  
   
“I did, I'm making it.”  
   
Dean looks at the pot, and then back to Sam, “from scratch?”  
   
“Mhm.”  
   
“Wow,” Dean backtracks and starts digging through the items Sam has left on the counter. There's sausage, pepperoni, bacon, various containers of cheese, and even a handful of large portobello mushrooms and green peppers.  
   
Sam comes over and plucks a green pepper out of Dean's hand, snorting at the disgruntled look Dean gave him.  
   
“Vegetables?”  
   
“Yeah,” Sam starts replacing the food as Dean continues to pout.  
   
“You can't ruin a good pizza with vegetables!”  
   
“Don't worry, I'm hiding it with meat, you won't even know they're there.”  
   
When Dean continues to pout Sam reaches forward and scoops up a bottle of wine to put in Dean's empty hand.  
   
“Here,” Sam pats Dean's cheek and returns to his sauce.  
   
“You getting me drunk to feed me vegetables?”  
   
“I'm getting you drunk to seduce you,” was Sam's quick response.  
   
Dean spins the bottle around to spy the label on the front. Pink moscato. For someone who didn't know his wine, Sam made a pretty good choice.  
   
“You keep bringing me wine and food and I'll marry you.”  
   
“If that's all it takes then I'll keep feeding you until you say yes.”  
   
Dean forgoes a response and instead pops the cork to pour himself a glass. Fortunately Sam's still at the stove so he can't see Dean's cheeks, which now resembles the color of the soft, pink wine. He leans back against the counter to watch Sam cook as he takes a few sips.  
   
He's in a tshirt and jeans, barefoot as he taps out a rhythm on the kitchen floor. Sam's obvious comfort in Dean's house helps to make Dean more comfortable around the younger male.  
   
Dean stares into his swirling glass as he prepares himself to ask a question.  
   
“Hey, uh, S-Sam?”  
   
“Yeah?”  
   
“Um,” Dean had to pause and find the courage to continue, “so, why did you come back today?”  
   
“What d'you mean?”  
   
Dean's face started prickling with heat. “I'm just trying to figure out why you came back.”  
   
When he didn't get an immediate response Dean lifted his head to find Sam staring at him.  
   
“Cause I like you, Dean.”  
   
“Are you sure?”  
   
Sam chuckled, “yeah, I'm sure.”  
   
Dean had to work to keep from smiling and distracted himself by crossing an arm over his chest. “Okay.”  
   
Apparently satisfied with the answer Sam turns the stove on low and goes about preheating the oven. “You know how to toss pizza dough?” Sam implores, digging out boxes from his inventory.  
   
“No.”  
   
“Want to learn?”  
   
This time Dean doesn't hold back his smile.  
   
“I'd love to.”  
   
In preparing the dough for kneading Dean learns even more about Sam, such as the intimate knowledge of what he's like when he's cooking. Sam is not a strict recipe follower, adding more flour, olive oil and even pepper to the dough, claiming that it makes the crust taste better than without.  
   
He finds out that Sam is a patient teacher at about the same time he learns that he can't toss pizza dough for shit.  
   
“No, no. You're not using enough knuckles.”  
   
“I'm gonna hit you with my knuckles,” Dean snaps as he tries to get his lump of wet dough airbourne.  
   
“No, you're going to drop it,” Sam's outright laughing at Dean, “watch me again.”  
   
Sam grabs his dough and kneads it on the counter. He's commenting on _pulling_ and _stretching_ , but Dean isn't paying attention, when Sam is laser focused on something is the best time for Dean to stare. How is Dean supposed to watch Sam's hands when there's the rest of him to look at?  
   
Then Sam's twirling the pizza dough in the air again, which has the incredible side effect of lifting Sam's shirt to reveal a thin line of tanned tummy, and a band of ducks' egg blue cotton panties.  
   
Dean's still staring at Sam's waist when the younger male drops his arms.  
   
“You think you can do that?”  
   
“What?”  
   
“Were you even watching?”  
   
“Sure I was.”  
   
Sam doesn't even try to cover up his eye roll, “were you watching me, or my hands?”  
   
“What's the difference?”  
   
“Easy. This is watching my hands,” Sam's face is overcome with an open, thoughtful expression and Dean can easily imagine him having the same look as he listens in class. “And this is watching _me_.” Sam's face goes the fucking opposite of blank, and gets all – _fiery_.  
   
"Alright, I think I can see the difference."  
   
"You sure?"  
   
"Yeah," Dean clears his throat and squirms his hips to try and adjust himself in his pants. He's not yet half hard, but he can feel the warmth pooling.  
   
"So you want to try again?"  
   
"Nah, I'll just pour myself another glass of wine, and watch," Dean said putting his words into action. He topped off his glass and took a big sip while keeping eye contact with Sam.  
   
The younger male couldn't keep a straight face and Sam broke the connection when he started to laugh.  
   
"Alright, guess it's dinner and a show."  
   
Dean was smiling as he straddled one of his bar stools and continued to drink.  
   
Sam finished rolling out the dough and laid them over thick metal cake pans he found in one of Dean's cupboards.  
   
"We're having deep dish," Dean stated.  
   
Sam answered an affirmative even though it wasn't a question.  
   
"So," Sam started as he pulled out a pan to brown the sausage a little, "tell me more about your friend Cas."  
   
Dean placed his glass back on the counter as he pondered that. He'd already had several conversations about Cas with the younger man. "What do you want to know?"  
   
Sam shrugged, "I guess I’m curious how you became friends. He seems a bit crazy for you."  
   
Dean laughed at that. "He used to be. Back in college he was a handful, I swear I sometimes felt like a single mother with a toddler when it came to Cas," Dean scratched his thumb over his brow. "But he was a great friend. He helped to push me out of my very _very_ claustrophobic comfort zone. I like to think that Cas is the reason I had courage to continue."  
   
"With school?"  
   
"School, family, hobbies, friends. All of the things worth living for. When I first went away to college I was so overwhelmed the only thing I could think to do was cry and drop out. Of everything." Dean paused and took a drink and Sam waited patiently for him to continue. "I was about this close from pulling out before the withdrawal date. I had a week to make up my mind and come up with a way to tell my parents when Cas found all of my paperwork. He said he wasn't going to try and convince me to stay, but he wanted to know why I was leaving."  
   
Dean was talking to his glass and twirling it in his fingers, hardly even paying attention to the fact that Sam was there.  
   
"It took him half the night and almost a full bottle of the cheapest vodka you've ever tasted, but I told him."  
   
He looked up and found Sam's eyes, and they begged him to continue.  
   
"I wouldn't exactly say I was suicidal, but it was something I fantasized about. Just not _being_ anymore. Life was, _is_ , exhausting, I have to find the courage to do the most remedial things. Like talk to people, or go out, or or try new things."  
   
He started rubbing his arms to soothe himself.  
   
"I used to be so shy that I was uncomfortable with myself. And he showed me how to fix that. Cas showed me how to appreciate _me_."  
   
Dean was almost afraid to look up, sure that Sam hadn't been expecting him to pour anything out quite like that. When he did find the courage to peek it was to see Sam looking back at him patiently.  
   
"I'm glad he did, because I've loved getting to know you."  
   
Their quiet moment stretched on a little more until Sam reached forward to pull Dean's glass from his fingers. Sam knocked back what was left and switched back into gear.  
   
"Okay, now who wants pizza?"  
   
Dean smiled at Sam's easy acceptance and pulled one of the pans forward. His plan was to cover it in so much meat that there wasn't enough room for Sam to sneak in any vegetables.  
   
"Put some of this on."  
   
"No."  
   
"C'mon, it's green peppers."  
   
"I don't like green peppers."  
   
"What? Everyone likes green peppers."  
   
"Not on their pizza."  
   
"C'mon," Sam reached over and started sprinkling small slices of green pepper.  
   
"Stop it," Dean slapped at Sam's hands. "Ruin your own pizza."  
   
Dean caused Sam to litter bits of green pepper across the counter, but Sam just plucked them back up and began flicking them into Dean's pan.  
   
"Get outta here," he started batting away the vegetables.  
   
"You get outta here," Sam smiled, and continued, so Dean snatched up his pan and the sausage and moved away to the table. Sam followed with a handful of green, so Dean tried to keep him away by throwing around his hips.  
   
"Quit ruining my food."  
   
"It's my food too."  
   
"And you need more meat," Dean went to go poke Sam's ribs when the younger male grabbed his wrist and spun him around, Dean quickly found himself pressed flush to Sam's chest, his arms utterly useless in the limited space between them.  
   
"Saaam!" he whined as a handful of green was dropped into the pan.  
   
He continued to squirm, struggle, and wiggle until Sam finally let him go, and then he just tried to portray his upset by pouting up at him.  
   
"You'll like it," Sam declared grabbing the pan from the table, "promise."  
   
Sam walked away with the pan, pressing a kiss to Dean's temple as he did.  
   
 *****

True to Sam's promise, Dean still liked the pizza, so much so that he didn't even pick off any of the green bell pepper and flick them at Sam - even though he was tempted.  
   
"Urgh."  
   
What he did do, was eat entirely too much deep dish pizza.  
   
"That had to be three pounds of food."  
   
"And about a thousand carbs," Sam added, his mouth full of the last slice. 

“How are you still eating?”

“M'hungry.”

Dean groaned and threw himself back on the couch, rubbing the swell of his belly. 

“Do you have a food baby?”

“Mhm,” Dean's eyes were closed, but opened when he felt a larger, warmer hand on his stomach next to his own. 

“I might pop.”

“You might.”

Sam kept eating while he lightly dragged his fingers over Dean's stomach, and Dean's eyes kept fluttering closed as he felt heavier and heavier on the couch. He was perfectly content. 

He'd done his best to finish off one of the pans, but had to tap out and let Sam eat the rest. Of course the empty bottles of wine, those were mostly on him.

The two were on the couch, both half sitting on the middle cushions and close enough that their elbows had knocked together while they ate. 

Now Dean was relaxed back against the cushions, his head resting on the back and he and Sam had come to rest shoulder to shoulder, leaning against each other like firewood settling on the flames. 

Dean was full and slightly tipsy, and he was certain that if he got off the couch he would wobble everywhere he went. 

“Can we tv?” he asked, snuggling closer to Sam.

“Yeah,” Sam reached for Dean's remote and flicked the screen on.

Dean's eyes recognized the colors on screen, but couldn't quite figure out what it was.

“This good?”

“Mmm.”

“Are you food drunk?”

“M'drunk drunk,” Dean giggled, and went with when Sam's arm started tugging him close. 

“You're so cute like this.”

Dean grumbled unhappily and turned to rest his head on Sam's chest. 

“Are you falling asleep on me?”

“No.”

He felt more than heard Sam laugh as his fingers through Dean's hair.

Dean refused to admit to falling asleep on Sam, but he couldn't actually deny the moisture on his bottom lip when he drug his hand across. It took him a minute to notice an arm around his waist and a hand in his hair, but when he did he smiled and burrowed closer. 

“You awake now?”

Dean hummed, “wasn't asleep.”

“Yeah you were. I heard snoring.”

He should probably move his head off of Sam, but he was so comfortable. 

“You sleeping again?”

“I don't snore.”

Dean could hear the smile in Sam's voice when he responded, “yeah you do.”

Sam's hand moved down to cup Dean's jaw, and his thumb carefully toyed with the bottom of Dean's lower lip. The movement stirred something in Dean, causing him to turn his head and to look at the younger male. 

He found Sam staring right at him.

Dean felt his breath catch. He knew that look, he'd read about it enough in all of his books. 

He watched as Sam started moving closer, his breath fanning out warm over Dean's lips. 

Before their mouths made contact Sam froze and asked in one breathy whisper, “can I?”

And Dean responded in kind, “yes.”

He kept his eyes open long enough for Sam to close the gap, and to finally press their lips together for the very first time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you curious about Dean's sleepiness this chapter, well, I personally get that way when I'm overwhelmed. I'll sleep for eighteen hours on the weekend if I could use the recharge, and Dean's working on being comfortable with everything. 
> 
> That and sleepy Dean = the reason for my existence ;)


	8. Hey Tiger

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello my lovelies!
> 
> Long time no see! I know that I've been relatively MIA most of the year, but I just want to let you all know that I haven't given up on you! (on any of my stories, really). 
> 
> RL has just been chaotic this year. With new jobs (for me, my brother in law, and boyfriend) close family members being laid off from work, my brother buying and remodeling a foreclosure, family members going to the hospital, my daily 2 hour work commute.....
> 
> I think ya'll get the picture. 
> 
> Sometimes I feel lucky to have clean underwear to slip into on Monday mornings. 
> 
> Point is, life after graduation has been crazy. Fun, adventurous and memorable, but crazy. 
> 
> I will continue to update as I can, but until things start (hopefully) settling, I can't promise that they'll be frequent. 
> 
>  
> 
> As always, I love to read your comments! I haven't had the chance to answer them, but I feel like if I have the time for AO3 it would be better spent writing, than replying. 
> 
>  
> 
> I hope you all enjoy the well deserved update :)

"You know that I hate bars."  
   
"And you know that's why I bring you to them."  
   
Dean bristles and watches Cas drink his beer.  
   
"Well you've only had a few bites," Cas gestures to Dean's food, "perhaps you're hungry?"  
   
Dean frowns at his plate "not hungry."  
   
Cas shrugs his shoulder and reaches over to grab a few fries off of Dean's plate, eating them and then returning to his own full plate.  
   
"So he kissed you, huh?"  
   
Dean stays quiet and fiddles with the food on his plate. He knew Cas could interpret his silence appropriately.  
   
"Were you okay with it?"  
   
"Yeah."  
   
"Well, you don't seem entirely excited about it."  
   
"I guess I just don't know how I feel."  
   
"How the hell could you not know how you feel?"  
   
"Wh-I-I just. Cas I'm just so overwhelmed," Dean dropped the fry he had been playing with and sighed.  
   
"You weren't uncomfortable with it?"  
   
"No."  
   
"Did he push you into it?"  
   
"A little? I mean, he asked me first and I said yes."  
   
Cas made a _hmm_ sound as he chewed his burger. "So are you just overwhelmed because you liked it?"  
   
"I think that might be it. It's - it's just been kind of a long time Cas, I haven't been with anyone since college."  
   
Cas nodded and dropped his food back to his plate. "So when are you hanging out with him again?"  
   
Dean shrugged and finally grabbed some of his fries and popped them in his mouth. "I don't know. We haven't really talked about it."

His friend allowed him to nibble at his fries for a moment or two before he pushed again. "Have you seen him since?"

"Since the kiss? Yeah. At work."

"And how has he been treating you?"

Dean fiddles with his food while he answers. "Like normal. Like nothing happened. And i-it makes me panic so much. I'm just - Cas, I don't know what to do."

Cas continues to eat his burger, not even attempting the advice that others would jump to in this scenario. Dean knows that Cas is well versed in how Dean perceives the world. A simple problem to others is not seen the same way to Dean.

"I'm not going to tell you to talk to him, or leave it be," Cas says replacing his food on his plate and folding his hands atop the table, "because neither of those would be useful options for you. But there is something else you could try, that you may find...difficult."

Dean feels flutters in his stomach.

"I don't like the sound of that."

"I know, but I think once you hear me out you'll feel a little better about it."

"Okay."

"Try flirting with him."

"Cas - ."

"Just flirt with him," Cas cuts him off. "I'm not asking you to strip naked and throw yourself at him in the middle of the reference section. Just - I dunno. Try putting your hand on his shoulder for longer than you normally would. Or, find excuses to brush up against him. Compliment his shoes or something. Give him some special attention and see how he reacts."

"I told him he looked nice once," Dean said lamely, thinking back to the day where Dean got all flustered and told Sam he looked hot.

"Yeah, but that was before your kiss, you need to see how he reacts now that this has happened."

"But Cas, you know I'm no good with reading people."

"Then call me after work and tell me what happens. Down to the last detail. I'll help you figure everything out."

"Okay," Dean ignores the flush of red over his face at the idea of even thinking about describing one of his personal encounters with Sam to Cas. "So let's say that I do try f-flirting with Sam," Cas politely doesn't draw attention to Dean tripping over the word, "what exactly would I learn from that?"

"Well, it would tell me how Sam feels about you. If he does anything to indicate that he likes you back, I'll know."

Dean watches Cas pick up his burger for another bite.

"How will you do that?"

"For people who know how social interactions work, it's much easier."

Dean scoffs, "as opposed to those who are socially challenged?"

"Such as yourself? Yes."

That breaks the funk Dean found himself in when he sat down with Cas, and he's more comfortable picking up his food and eating after that. 

"So how is Meg doing?" Dean asks around his first real bite of food.

Cas nods as he swallows, "good, she's been picking up a few extra shifts at the hospital since I'm working more hours at the office. I figure between the two of us all of this overtime will help us put a good dent in our debt."

From there Cas trails off. Talking about money and interest rates, possible money overflow and what they'll spend it on. It seems the couple is torn between time shares and a college fund for the children they plan to have someday soon.

Dean is all for saving the money for babies, but he's always been a simple dreamer. He'd pass up exotic cocktails on a beach for an iced tea in a suburban backyard any day. The only sand he really pictures between his toes is in the backyard sandbox he'd like to have for his kids someday. 

Overall though, once the topic of Sam has closed for the night the conversation flows smoothly. Cas is one of the few people that Dean can freely talk to without tripping over his words. It isn't until they're about to part in the parking lot, keys jingling in their hands that Dean is reminded of his assignment.

"Don't forget to flirt!" is the reminder offered to him by the junior accountant as the tails of his tan coat twirl about him as he walks away.

And with that the flutters are back in Dean's stomach, and for the first time since the younger man has started, Dean dreads his early morning tomorrow with Sam.

*****

Dean's jittery. 

He's dropped or fumbled at least half of the books he touched in the drop box. His hips are bruised from walking into the cart he's working on, and there are cool beads of sweat sticking to his forehead in anticipation of Sam's arrival.

He's already embarrassed for himself. As if his nervous system already knows, _anticipates_ that he will do something stupid to warrant the furious blush all down his face and neck.

The anxiety is _draining_ him.

Dean feels that it's still a little early for pop, but he really thinks he needs the sugar and caffeine to balance himself out. He still hopefully has some time before Sam comes in early to start working with him, so he slips into the break room to grab himself a drink. 

He cracks the tab on his drink and takes a few sips as he walks back into the sorting room. 

The sugar does him good, and it helps clear his head enough that he's able to get through the morning's returns without embarrassing himself further. It's just as he's placing hold stickers on the books that had come through that night when he hears the back door open up and the sound of Sam's steps coming in. 

Dean's heart starts pounding a little more, but he forces himself to keep breathing normally and not work himself up, otherwise he won't be able to talk to Sam without freaking himself out. 

“Hey man,” Sam says popping his head into the sorting room before walking in, “how are you this morning?”

One of Sam's large arms comes around Dean and grabs a pen from the holder before he walks off and scribbles a note on a piece of paper, slipping it into a book and placing it on the hold shelf. 

Dean turns back around and places the final hold sticker. 

“Ah-okay,” he clears his throat, “how about you? Uh, man?”

_Smooth._

“Good. I mean, it's Friday, so,” he shrugs, “it's practically the weekend.”

Dean nods, distracted as he carries the small pile of hold books to the shelf. Sam meets him at the entrance of the sorting room, and they have to twist their hips to the side so they can walk by each other. It almost passes by Dean's mind, but as soon as he steps free of the doorway he can feel a warm spot on his waist from where Sam had placed his hand when they had brushed by each other.

He can feel his blush coming back, prickling across his face as it heats up. 

He clears his throat and continues with his morning like normal.

“So, any plans?”

That's Sam.

“Uh, no. No plans, probably just clean the apartment, run some errands.”

“Hmm.”

Dean turns to watch the younger man as he bends over to pick up a stray book that came through the chute before Dean could replace the drop box. Sam is wearing soft, duck yellow panties today. It looks like the waist band is made of a simple lace. 

The younger man pulls a cart into the sorting room and starting piling on the children's books. They've piled up the last few days, and none of the other pages like putting them away. And despite the fact that Sam has to fold himself in half to reach the ground level shelves he does so very gracefully. In fact, Dean has seen on more than one occasion small kids come up and talking to Sam as he works. And the smile he sees on Sam's face as he interacts with the library's youngest patrons always makes Dean happy.

“.....Dean?”

“Huh?”

Sam chuckles as he sits with his cart of books to sort, “I asked if you were going to be busy tomorrow night.”

“I don't think so?”

“You sound unsure.”

“I'm not busy tomorrow.”

Sam smirks, and though Dean's aware that he hasn't moved in several minutes, and isn't actually doing any work, he's still trying to find a way to fulfill Cas' assignment. 

“Do you think that we could hang out and make some dinner together? Watch a movie or something?” Sam says with a shrug, eyes still on his books.

Dean stares at Sam. He's still standing there like an idiot, not saying anything and just looking at the other man trying to process his response. 

Sam has paused in his work to look back at Dean, and the sudden pressure of his eyes on him has Dean freaking.

He feels like this is his chance to flirt with Sam. To evaluate how Sam feels back. Problem is, he doesn't know what to do.

Dean's mouth starts popping like a fish, trying to say something. But when he spies the front cover of the book Sam is holding, with a little cartoon lion on it, Dean takes it as inspiration. 

“Dinner and a movie? Sure thing tiger.”

“Tiger?”

“Shit,” he feels his blood prickling his skin all over. He just knows that he's gone tomato red and he can already feel himself sweating again. 

This is why Dean does not flirt.

He immediately turns on his heels and makes his way out of the back room, he might be running for all he knows, but he's gotta get out of there. Away from Sam who is surely going to decline his offer. So instead he uses his keys to unlock the community room where he can hide until his blaring discomfort and embarrassment can fade away.

He's got the door open and he twists with his back to the wall while he works on returning his breathing to normal. He's wheezing, taking uneven breaths, and can feel his heart pounding. 

When his vision starts spotting black and he feels a cool chill crawl over his skin he knows that he's having a panic attack.

Dean slides down to his knees and crawls over to the corner behind the door. When he gets his back pressed up against the solid surface he feels slightly more stable, but his breaths are still shaky. He tilts his head back until it's propped up against the wall and he forces himself to take long, calming breaths. 

He's just started in on calming himself down when he hears sudden knocking on the door.

He wasn't even aware that he had closed it behind him.

“Dean? Dean? Hey, open up.”

Dean shakes his head even though Sam can't see him. 

“Ca-can-can't open th' door,” 

“Dean!”

“Sam?”

“Can you open the door?”

“Nuh-no.”

“You can't?”

“No.”

“Okay.”

Dean tries to listen to what Sam is doing behind the door, but he can't concentrate long enough to figure it out, His vision is swimming, and he knows that it's because he can't get his breathing under control. He's going to pass out from lack of oxygen if he can't calm himself down enough.

A loud clattering bang forces Dean to take in a deep, shocked breath, so he uses it to his advantage and starts a measured breath count. He's so focused on his new breathing count that it takes him a moment to notice that Same is now squatting right in front of him, with both his hands on Dean's shoulders. 

Sam's sudden close proximity throws Dean off of his counting, and instead of forcing the air in it gets stuck in his throat. 

Dean feels his head dip forward just as Sam's grip gets real tight and he snaps out “Shit!”

* * *

When he's out he isn't out cold. He can tell Sam is moving him around, but can't summon the energy to keep his body from flopping around, or even to open his eyes and let Sam know he's okay. At one point he feels himself being lifted up, and can tell that Sam is talking to someone. 

It stresses Dean out to know that the situation is out of his hands, but he does feel safe knowing that Sam is still with him. Dean has rarely passed out due to a panic attack before, and while his brain is mortified at the thought that a handful of his coworkers are likely to witness him like this – along with a great deal more who will hear embellished retellings of it – he can't help but remain calm at the prospect that Sam is at the helm. 

That Sam will take care of him. Sam will keep him safe.


	9. Like a date?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello my lovelies :)
> 
> Well, sometimes life hits you down pretty hard. But I guess the most important part isn't how long it takes you to get back up, just that you do. 
> 
> I'm sorry that all of my works have been in the wind, and that I haven't been answering comments, but I'm in the process of getting back up. 
> 
> I hope you all enjoy this update as I work on getting back to being/feeling like myself again :)

It's the shivering that brings Dean back.

 

He's laying down, face first, and knows that he's covered with a blanket, but it feels like his whole body has been drenched in ice water.

 

Another shiver goes through him and he can feel a warm hand run up and down his back.

 

He freezes at the touch and the hand stops. Whoever is touching him obviously felt him tense up.

 

“You waking up?”

 

It's Sam.

 

Dean buries his face into the pillow he's on, but he nods all the same.

 

“How are you feeling? Do you have a headache? Want anything to drink?”

 

Dean nods so he can keep his face hidden. He has that dull, throbbing headache that you get whenever you wake up from a nap and realize that you've had too much sleep.

 

He hears a creak and footsteps as Sam walks away.

 

Dean twists his head to the fresh air, he's tempted to open his eyes and look around to see where he is, because he doesn't think he's at work anymore, but he also doesn't want to subject himself to that much light.

 

Sam comes back and Dean feels something tickle the seam of his lips.

 

“It's a straw. Apple juice.”

 

Dean allows the straw in and sucks enough to wet his tongue.

 

“You want some ibuprofen?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Here.”

 

Dean allows Sam to pop a pill into his mouth before drinking a bit more juice.

 

When the drink is taken away Dean feels a hand running through his hair. It helps soothe a bit of his headache away, and he lifts his head into the touch.

 

“Where we at?”

 

“I brought you back home,” Sam replies quietly. “I grabbed your bag and took your keys to get inside.”

 

Dean hummed out a noise as he pressed his face back into the pillow.

 

“I'm going to make some grilled cheese and soup. I think you should have something to eat.”

 

Dean hears Sam stand up and walk away, before he's opening cabinets in Dean's kitchen.

 

It's soothing to know that Sam is there to help take care of him.

 

Dean doesn't often have such intense panic attacks, but usually when he does he's the one taking care of himself afterwards.

 

He lets himself drift in and out of sleep for a little bit, as he was still feeling relatively drowsy and out of it when he first woke up.

 

Pretty soon Sam comes back and Dean hears two plates being placed on the coffee table.

 

“You going to wake up for food?”

 

“Mrr-noo,” Dean groans into his pillow.

 

Sam chuckles at Dean's response.

 

“Alright. I'll help you with the sandwich then. When you wake up you can eat the soup on your own,” the couch rustles as Sam moves, “cause I'm not spoon-feeding you soup, dude.”

 

That makes Dean crack a smile.

 

Sam's hand cards through Dean's hair as he feels something press against his lips.

 

He opens them and lets Sam feed him small bites of grilled cheese.

 

The food helps to clear his head of the sickly fog that was still sticking around, and he eventually shifts around on the couch so that he's more on his back than his stomach.

 

He's curled up onto two of his couch cushions and Sam has the third.

 

Dean's rubbing his tummy, easing some of the ache that had built up with his headache, when he glances over at Sam. They catch eyes and Dean freezes before feeling himself flush once again.

 

Shit. That's right.

 

His panic attack had been brought out because he'd stupidly tried flirting with Sam.

 

This was the last time he was taking Cas' advice on something.

 

“Uh-umm. So I – uh,” Dean's cheeks are prickling with heat.

 

He's not actually sure what to say to Sam.

 

“You want to try your soup?”

 

“Um. Yeah.”

 

Dean sits up on the couch as Sam grabs his bowl from the coffee table.

 

“I used the can of chicken noodle you had in the pantry,” Sam says as Dean sits back and starts slurping at the soup.

 

“It wasn't expired, so I figured,” Sam shrugs and picks at the hem of his shirt. “I like to add some water to canned soup myself. It uh – kind of evens out the salty flavor. And then I add some pepper and oregano. Just to make it a little better, ya know?”

 

Dean's still slurping at his soup, but his eyebrow is quirked at this point.

 

Sam sure is rambling about soup an awful lot.

 

“I never thought of adding some spices to it,” Dean says as he swirls his spoon around the bowl. 

“It's a lot better this way.”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Yeah,” Dean slurps on another spoon. “I usually keep a can around for lazy days, I don't actually care for canned soup, but this? This is pretty good.”

 

Dean catches the tale end of a smile on Sam's face as the other man reaches for his drink.

 

He finishes his soup in quiet while Sam sips at his drink.

 

“So Dean, can – uh – can I ask you something?”

 

Dean looks over to see Sam staring into his glass.

 

“Sure.”

 

“Well, you said you weren't busy tomorrow night, right? Would you want to go to the movies or something?”

 

“Huh?”

 

“I asked earlier before your um, before. I wanted to know if you were free to hang out?”

 

Dean's eyebrows pull together. Was Sam...planning a date?

 

“Uh, sure. I mean, yeah. That, that sounds fun.”

 

Sam smiles up at him and nods. “Okay, cool.”

 

They stare at each other for a short while before Sam clears his throat. “So how are you feeling? Do you need me to stick around for a bit? Um, make sure that you're feeling okay?”

 

Dean sucks in his lower lip as he watches his spoon drag across the bottom of his empty bowl. 

 

“I’ll uh, probably be okay.”

 

“Oh.”

 

Dean sees Sam’s shoulders slump out of the corner of his eye. 

 

“But um,” he clears his throat and makes a point of leaning forward to put his bowl on the coffee table. “I think I’d like to have you around anyways.”

 

He looks up and sees Sam’s dimpled smile. 

 

“Yeah?”

 

Dean nods, “yeah.”

 

“So does-mmppf!”

 

Dean surges forward, across the cushions, and he curls his hands into the hair at the base of Sam’s head. Threading his fingers through the younger man’s soft locks, and using that to bring Sam’s lips closer to his own. 

 

He’s starting to think that Cas could be right. Perhaps Sam _does_ like Dean that way. He licks his way into Sam’s mouth - once Sam starts responding back - and smiles. Proud that his short-term bravery had worked.

 

They move their lips together for only a short period before Sam was pulling back with a laugh. 

 

“So does this mean that we’re going to the movies tomorrow?”

 

“What?” Dean thumbs a bit of saliva off of his lip. 

 

“Movies? Tomorrow?”

 

He shifts back on the couch, drawing one leg up so he can face Sam better. 

 

“Like h-hangin’ out?”

 

Sam reaches forward and runs his fingers through the hair on the top of Dean’s head before moving his hand to cup the back of his head. 

 

“Like a date.”

**Author's Note:**

> How was the first chapter?
> 
> Please excuse any mistakes, I work to fix what I can, but some things slip through.


End file.
